Once Prey, Now Predator
by hiveshipqueen
Summary: Yautja culture speaks of those among prey who should be Yautja, trapped in the wrong body through cosmic fault. This is the story of one of them.
1. Chapter 1

She gave a trill of delight, clicking her mandibles together excitedly as she waited for the door to open. He chuckled, rolling his amber eyes at her before placing a hand on her shoulder, pausing before stepping aside and allowing Horn to repeat the gesture. Thankfully even after her change, they both still stood good six or seven inches over her. She'd never grow as tall as a natural Yautja female, even if her attitude was almost as intimidating at times. While the gesture surprised the unblooded ones nearby given her history, the Elders knew well enough the circumstances and seemed to share a look of amusement as she returned the gesture without a moment's hesitation. A true Yautja in their eyes. Letting go, the door then slid down with a pneumatic hiss and they ran out without a single word being said. The thrill of being outdoors needed no gesture to sum it up. She kept pace easily with Scar, unrestricted by the protective armour they both normally wore for hunts, with Horn flanking the pair. Even if she'd been accepted, he knew from watching that some sought still to either claim or kill her. The sprinting match ended shortly however as they came to a ravine. The medical supply house was on the other side, and the gap was unjumpable –a result of the storms that had recently ravaged the planet. Sharing trills and clicks between them, she then raised a hand before making a claw-like grasping motion in the air. Dirt was thrown up as the roots were forced to yield their hold, and the great length of the sturdy tree was soon being manipulated through the air from nearby to come to a steady rest, effectively bridging the gap. Horn churred his approval, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady her as she swayed a little on the spot before leaping onto the trunk and making his way easily across, followed closely by Scar. They didn't take long. Bouncing on the spot as she sensed their competitive trilling, she then eyed the boxes they both held before leading the way back at a steady jogging pace. There was no need for an alarming amount of speed, which gave the unblooded amongst them to vent a little more surplus energy from their time onboard – more refreshing than fighting in the youngsters pit, by their reckoning. Pacing into the bridge, the trio bowed their heads towards the two more ornately-dressed Elders stood awaiting news. The boxes were presented, and clawed hands were placed on shoulders as signs of congratulation. The supplies were, after all, well needed. One left, grunting to himself before striding off down one of the two corridors.

"_Got everything you need_?" Her telepathy went unused for now, given her recent use of the magical energy naturally flowing inside her veins, as the remaining Elder addressed them verbally. He, like her and the tutoring hunter Horn, was marked out among their kind by the fact that he was almost albino. Scar was the only normal one out of the lot of them, but was unique in his own way by being the only one to survive an encounter with a facehugger. It had been removed surgically, but he'd feel discomfort from that area for the rest of his long lifetime. A small price to pay.

"_Yes, I think so. We left some supplies there and I let the tree fall, so then the rest is safe_."

With a nod of his crested head, he then turned in a swirl of red material before departing. Several unblooded youngsters passed, offering the occasional churring sound of acknowledgement before carrying on back to their shared quarters – until they did their first hard meat kill, they wouldn't gain their own. She had thankfully killed two, but one or two of the council members had violently disagreed given what she'd been before, which now kept her bunking in with Scar while continuing her training with Horn. Neither male minded, and actually seemed glad of the company at times.

x.x.x.x.x.x

She groaned heavily, leaning out of the vehicle once the sickness had finally passed. Whatever motion tablets she'd been given had well and truly knocked her out. It was a good thing that her speciality skills, geology and navigation, hadn't been necessary within the pyramid. Buzzing the window down once the commotion from outside reached her ears, she suddenly found herself face to face with something black, hissing and probably pissed off. The surprise didn't give her time to scream, only to register that it was in fact a threat to her existence. As it began to lean into the cabin, she had just a moment to notice the distortion on the edge of the slope moving rapidly towards them. But that didn't matter now. Waving her hand to constantly keep it distracted by blurring its vision a little, she began wheeling the window up while dodging the furious snaps of those duel jaws. Then, with three firm wrenches, she ducked just as the second jaw shot out, skimming her hair before a gurgling scream came from its throat as the glass finally broke its neck. The Xenomorph went limp, although it made a few futile thrashes as if in protest. Wrinkling her nose at the sight and about to reach for the latch, she then squirmed her way back from the door as it was opened. The distortion she'd seen earlier had decided to be nosy, and the camouflage faded to reveal a 7ft broad-shouldered masked humanoid with what looked like dreadlocks decorated with rings. The first thought that entered her head? Nice hairdo. Good god, here she was faced with an alien and she wanted to compliment it. Note to self: no more alcohol. That much she was able to tell at a first glance of course, before watching it as its hand made to move towards the monsters head. Oh hell no. She'd killed it. He was not getting away with messing up what she was going to clean up. She placed a hand on the smooth slope of the skull, beating his to it, and baring her teeth in a hiss. It'd been more of an automatic response than anything, but he'd made no words yet. So, logically, maybe noises would get through to him better.

He drew up then sharply, almost smacking his head on the roof before grunting and making a beckoning gesture. She, this small pale soft-flesh, had killed a hard meat. While she was prey, she had made herself, through that one act, worthy of being marked. That is how it was done. It'd been done before, so he'd heard through clan rumours and whispers – humans who aided them or killed hard-meat were marked to show this, to discourage predators from thinking them weak when on the Hunt again. It didn't take them off the menu so to speak, but it spoke of bravery and courage, and to be wary. Scar stood aside when she scampered out, noting the pale tinge to her cheeks before sniffing the air within the vehicle as he pulled the body out. She'd been sick, and not with the rest of her kind. Why didn't bother him at this point in time. He'd come to ensure that all the hard-meats were dead, and she'd made the job a little bit faster for him. Watching her stamp her feet on the ground for a moment, he drew himself up before chittering to himself in amusement behind the mask. She was so short! Females in his kind were larger than the males, so it also threw him to see the reverse difference in oomans. He then removed the hoses on either side of his mask, reaching up with his mottled, clawed hands before pulling it off with a pneumatic hiss. He could regard her properly now, and noted the look of fascination. Scar found it amusing, but also irritating at the same time. He didn't enjoy people flinching like he was the most hideous piece of filth on their shoes, but nor did he enjoy being gawped at like he was something alarmingly interesting. He flared his mandibles, shaking his head a little before letting out a roar. She leant back before tilting her head, baring her own teeth and attempted to mimic the sound.

Part of him bristled at the unspoken challenge, but the more logical side of him decided to accept the fact that she was trying to prove to him that she was worthy of the mark, regardless if she knew what he was going to do or not. Or did she? No, humans didn't have the trait of mind-speak, not that he'd ever heard of. Tugging off the finger he'd used to make the ritual marks on his own forehead, he then squeezed it to cause a little of the acid to appear before making a clicking noise. He watched intently as her eyes flicked from the finger to the mark. Then she nodded, before bowing her head to expose her forehead. Not where he'd intended to mark of course, but then again, she was consenting to it – where the symbol was made had no bearing on what it meant. The one he'd marked earlier that day had probably chosen her cheek at random. He carefully leant forwards, twitching his upper mandibles in concentration before making two elegant, careful streaks. She didn't flinch, but a quiet sort of whine came from her throat. No doubt at the feel of the acid eating into her flesh. Eyeing the body, he then grabbed it by the tail and tucked the now drained head under one of his arms before walking towards the area where he could detect his ship. Hearing silence behind him, Scar then peered over one of his shoulders before cocking his head and letting a trill out from between his mandibles and gesturing in a manner than made his dreadlocks fall over his shoulders. She paused. She had a mate, a life-partner. If she went with this creature now to honour her kill, who knew if she'd even survive? But on the other hand, she had no means to get back home and certainly no method of communication. She'd die in three days given the supplies in the van, tops. Therefore, this male was her only route to survival. Ignoring the clenching pain of heartache in her chest, she then scooted after him before picking up half of the creatures' body. It was _hers_, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

He trilled as he stepped up the ramp, before halting at the entrance to the ship and heaving the carcass in. With her help, naturally. She'd refused to let go of it even after he'd snarled at her, so he'd reluctantly accepted that it was her trophy even if she had no idea what to do with it. The door closed, and he felt a faint juddering as the craft took off to return them to their territory.

"_Why did you bring a soft meat_?" This question came from an Elder, whose flesh held almost none of their normal pigmentation. Even his mandibles appeared purest white, and his hair bordered on grey rather than the traditional darker black - an albino. His pinkish eyes flicked to one side, where Scar presumed she was waiting nervously. Or so he'd hope. Displaying no fear in front of him was tolerable enough, but being on an alien craft was probably a whole 'kettle of fish' entirely, to use a phrase he'd overheard.

"_She killed a Xenomorph by herself_." While it wasn't this behaviour that had startled him, it had been her automatic response to protect her kill. Most oomans would probably have staggered away in disgust, or left it. So far as he'd been able to tell, she understood the concept of a trophy. He shook his head a little, cracking a few bones in his back as he straightened up his stance respectfully.

Then, just as the Elder was about to speak, Scar heard a thump from behind him. He turned on the spot, then instantly knelt beside the blooded ooman in question – that wasn't normal. Her features had turned red and were rapidly progressing into blue, her hands clawing at the air as her chest desperately attempted to draw in the oxygen that just didn't exist. While it was present in the ships' atmosphere, it just hadn't been enough to keep her going. Damn, he hadn't thought of that. Trilling an order sharply at one of the technicians in the room, the unblooded juvenile strode off before briskly returning with a mask specifically designed for such a purpose – oomans were generally kept on board either as hosts for future hunts or as slaves, so allowing them to breath was at least something they were already prepared for. Securing it around her face with the leather buckles, it sat over her nose and mouth with a grill specifically designed to filter the atmosphere tailored to her. The shuddering stopped, but her eyes remained closed. The Elder knelt down as well, momentarily causing Scar to bristle. Was he going to kill her there? The pale male ran a hand over the mark on her forehead, his claws tracing the design that the acid had eaten into her skin. Then he snorted, drawing his hand away sharply.

"_You did not tell me she had the gift of mind-speak_"

Scar frowned, tilting his head as he looked down again at her, clicking his mandibles together thoughtfully now that they weren't restricted. Mind-speak was a trait that one in nearly fifty bloodlines had, a mutation among their kind and one both valued and feared. Shifting his arms, he then easily lifted her up in his grip and shifted her against his chest. Leaving her in the doorway was bound to piss someone off, after all.

"_I didn't know, Alpha_."

"_Take her to the Infirmary. One of the Healers can tend to her, before we decide what to do_."

"_She'll be my slave_."

The Elder looked surprised at this statement. While the Hunter had earned the right to take a submissive from among the many kept on board, to do so on such a compulsion wasn't really heard of especially given how he'd marked her. Suspicious. But he couldn't find any grounds to refuse him, and so curtly nodded.

As he followed the leading Healer, he mentally winced. He'd sensed a vein of aggression in her even after she'd scampered shaking out of the van back on her home planet, and he presumed that some pride went along with it. While he'd be the first to admit that her species was obviously inferior, he did doubt that she'd take this information in a docile manner. Rolling his eyes, he clicked irritably before setting her down and departing to tend to his own wounds in the privacy of his newly earned quarters.

x.x.x.x.x.x

"Fuck."

A trill reached her ears shortly after, before a metallic voice worked its way into her ears from somewhere to her left. She was laid down from what she could tell, and her ribs ached like she'd been given the bearhug of the century. Forcing her eyes open a crack, they lazily focussed on the ceiling. Odd, the last thing she remembered was standing behind the alien who'd marked her, keeping a hand on her kill to ensure that he didn't steal it. Hers, dammit. Raising a hand to her head, she was silently grateful that the rings remained and her tattoo hadn't been damaged by the acidic creature's blood – the earth chevron still remained on her inner right wrist. Rubbing at her temples with a quiet groan, she then sat up only to realise that all but her underwear was missing. Her mp3, phone and notepad were all gone as was her Weyland uniform, and the fur pelt was thankfully in grabbing reach as she hoisted it over herself before paying attention to the voice nearby.

"_Ah, you are awake_."

"No shit Sherlock."

The noise took on a bit of a hiss, and a clawed hand soon placed itself over her forehead to check her temperature roughly. She watched him carefully, remaining as still as possible despite the instinct to scarper. She'd put herself in this situation after all. It had been either this or freeze to death, and certainly didn't want her mate to hear of the latter. So she clung doggedly to the hope that she'd return. Then she remembered what the mask was, and touched it. Presumably that was what enabled her to communicate with them.

"_It allows you to breathe our air, and speak our tongue. It also translates your own into ours."_

"Who marked me? What happened to my trophy?"

The male, a cream creature with almost chocolate-coloured splatters over his body, wiggled his mandibles in a way that suggested that her rapid-fire questions were a little too much for his patience. But, alas, he'd been instructed to merely treat her and leave punishment up to the Yautja that was going to take her in. His hand flexed all the same, before he forced himself to answer.

"You would call him Scar, in your tongue. He is recovering. He has your trophy."

She stiffened at the last part and he made a sort of sniggering noise from between his teeth. At the sound of his amusement, she glared at him – a 'look of death', as the ooman slang went.

"Very amusing I'm sure. Can I have my clothes back?"

"_You can have the clothes you will wear while here_."

A loincloth, bosom wrap and some dull leather boots were dumped on the end of the bed. Picking them up gingerly, she inspected them before arching an eyebrow up.

"I'll freeze."

"_I assure you, you will not. The ship is warm enough for you to remain healthy and active_."

"Can you turn around?"

"_Why_?"

"I am not dressing in front of you."

Another chuckle before he complied. At least now the medic knew how to irritate her in turn. Punishment might be forbidden, but annoying wasn't! He eventually turned round again when she coughed, and briefly let his eyebrow ridges lift up. Across her stomach was an ornate, flowery tattoo and, if he tilted his head, he could easily see that it repeated itself on her lower back. Such markings weren't common among his kind due to their healing abilities, and the fact that only hard meat ink ever left a permanent scar made them even more fascinating. Still, he wasn't treating her just to examine her markings. With a grunt, he then gestured for her to follow him. She did so reluctantly, forcing the compulsion to cower and cover herself up better back and keeping her head parallel to the floor as she was led. '_I'm half-naked and surrounded my creatures at least good two or three feet taller than me that make The Rock look like a cuddly teddy-bear. What on earth was I thinking? Still, better than slowly freezing or starving to death I guess, and there's always a chance I can return home' _she thought to herself. They stopped then when an Elder passed, the same albino that she'd collapsed in front of. She mimicked the medic's movements automatically, placing a fist over her heart and lowering her head. He purred in what she guessed was surprise, clacking his upper mandibles together before tilting her head up using a single finger and stroking over the mark with a lower part of his jaw. The gesture was tender, but she didn't doubt that he could probably gut her in a second if he got displeased.

"_Serve well, soft meat_." She gulped, her eyes widening and almost crossing in an attempt to focus on his unnervingly close features. Fascinating creatures she wouldn't deny. Such a pity that her sketchbook had been left behind, they'd make excellent studies. He stood then, peering at her once more through those pink eyes before gesturing for them to carry on. An alien with pink eyes. She never thought she'd see the day. Scooting after the medic who'd already started off again down the corridor and ignoring the muttered comments of disdain from those passing, they soon came to a corridor of doors. One of these he rapped on, the metal of his knuckles causing the door to almost vibrate. It slid open after a series of irritated growls came from behind it, and there was Scar – his armour had been removed, leaving the loincloth and leather bracers on to expose the scarring on his midriff and torso. A statuesque specimen, much like all of those that she'd come into contact with. The medic nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

"_I brought the blooded soft-meat, as instructed_." His tone of voice, if you could call it that, clearly seemed to get across his disgust at having to tolerate her without turning her into a new wall decoration. Not that she'd sympathise, obviously.

Scar snorted quietly, clacking his mandibles before turning his attention to her. Like the medic, his eyes were drawn almost automatically to the ink designs. He took in what details he could, before raising his head to meet hers. She looked comically paler with the mask about her lower features, but it was necessary if she wished to survive, and her irritation at being in what he considered normal clothing was obvious enough. He jerked his head, motioning her inside, before closing the door on the bristling medic without a word. While the male could challenge the Hunter, the fact that he was unblooded would have made it almost laughable.

She peered around, taking in the details. It all appeared to be in one room, save for what she suspected was a bathroom and a kitchen – very Spartan. The colours were earthy and the low lighting came from the sparse candles littered about on several items of furniture, which appeared to be made of something organic similar to wood. Furs littered the bed and some areas of the floor, with cushions scattered here and there as well. The wall that caught her eye most was his trophy area, small for now, next to the almost wall-high window. She walked over to it, ignoring him now that her attention was focussed.

He watched with irritation at first, then amusement as she became absorbed in looking at his trophies. Most were caught before he'd taken the rite of passage, but they were impressive in his opinion regardless; three human skulls, one similar to that of a horse, one of another Yautja and about five of some sort of reptile. Only when she extended a hand did he let out a low growl of warning, striding purposefully behind her and forcing her arm to lower by pressing his hand onto it.

"Do not touch."

"You take great care of them. It reminds me of my fossil collection." To her, that's exactly what it was. The only difference between his collection and hers was that his were killed to make a point. Hers, in contrast, had already been dead for goodness knows how long. He tilted his head curiously, reclining on his bed nearby before motioning for her to take the floor. As there were cushions nearby, it didn't seem to faze her and she wiggled a bit to settle down.

"_Fossil_?"

"Yes. When an animal dies, its skeleton is left behind much like your trophies. Over many thousands of years, the bone is replaced by minerals that harden it. Gradually, through weathering, they are brought to the surface again where they are discovered. Some are rarer than others. The rarer fossils and more you have, the better you are." Ok, that was the simplified version, but hopefully he'd understand what she was saying as she paired it with hand gestures.

"_So, you collect fossils like I collect trophies_?" His mandibles wiggled a little as he tilted his head, comfortably lounging on the seat. She likened him to an Emperor for a moment, resplendent and supremely confidant in his power before restraining her smile. Come now, stop geeking out. History probably had little relevance here after all.

"Yes, I had a rather impressive collection."

"_Do you miss it_?" He'd put two and two together by now. Surely she did, if she was as proud of her collection as he was of his. It was a small parallel between them, and one that he was silently thankful for. At least now there would be no need for silence. He owed her a debt, although admittedly a small one, for killing the Xenomorph; he'd been weakened at the time from his past injuries, and had stubbornly allowed himself to agree to ensure that the pyramid site was clean after. If he'd fallen to it, it would have dishonoured his name so soon after his Blooding. She'd done him a favour.

She nodded, idly toying with the pendants about her neck. From what he could see, one appeared to have a symbol painted on it while the other had a blue gem in the centre. Jewellery was common among their kind, although they tended to fashion it from parts of their kills and left metal ornamentation for more ceremonial events. He jabbed a finger towards them before speaking.

"_What do those mean_?"

She paused and looked down, the enthusiastic light in her eyes fading almost as quickly as it had come. When she spoke, her answer was even more monotone than the mask already made it.

"The symbol means 'hopes and dreams'. It is a talisman, used by humans to hopefully bring about favourable times or to ward off evil. The other was a gift from my lifemate; it is the colour of his eyes." She'd been about to say wings, but she didn't feel like explaining _that_ to the alien just yet.

He gave a low churr then, his mandibles drooping a little. While he felt no desire towards the female, he did feel something very close to guilt. In order to ensure her survival and the preservation of her honour, he'd allowed her to come on the ship instead of dieing from the cold after being ritually signed as warrior. And yet, her Blooding now held a barb by separating her from her life partner. Such mateships were rare in his kind; males tended to take seasonal mates when they came into season, and left it at that once they'd got the female in pup. Whatsmore, he didn't know how to make her feel better, or if he even wanted to. While he knew full well that it shouldn't be of his concern, she was Blooded. An inferior made almost an equal, and more so by the trait that the Elder had stated. Instead, he shifted a fur blanket and draped it over her shoulders. He shifted himself down properly on the bed before letting his eyes close once he'd shuffled back. He'd deal with this confusing set of circumstances in the morning. He heard her settle down almost beneath the bed and gave a low trill, before his thoughts faded into welcome darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

He stirred as the artificial lights slowly began to illuminate the room in an amber glow, cracking one beady eye open before stretching in a feline-like ripple from head to toe in a manner that caused his spine to pop several times. Idling for a moment in the comfort of his pelts, he then let out what could be classified as a growling sigh before swinging himself out of bed... and stepping right onto her fingers. Scar had forgotten she'd taken rest underneath instead of taking up some of the space he'd left, and he winced at the sound of her fingers cracking followed by a high-pitched yelp as the pain worked its way up to her brain. He hurriedly shifted his foot off, crouching down before shoving the recliner aside enough to allow her to manoeuvre out from under it. She'd clearly been comfortable, given the warmth he could detect just from where he was now. She peered at her fingers then; the middle right was clearly broken, bent at an odd angle in the middle, and the last two seemed to be already bordering on turning purple. His mandibles drooped a little as he watched her, for a moment, fight back tears before finally letting them flow even while clenching her teeth to try and hold them back. His kind lacked the ability to cry, but he knew enough of ooman biology to know that it was an automatic response to pain. Carefully he moved her out into the open space of his floor, gingerly taking her hand before examining it. It was well beyond his knowledge to repair. With an irritated hiss, he plucked her up so she stood on her own two feet before leading the way, gesturing to her to keep the injured limb against her chest. His first time having a blooded ooman under his charge, and he'd already injured her. That'd look interesting to the Elders; most Yautja took at least a week to begin abusing their slaves, and he had accidentally beaten the lot of them. Horn wouldn't be happy, the senior Hunter had been looking forward to seeing what her mind-speak was capable of.

She followed him, desperately fighting to keep the tears out of her eyes. Here was the last place she wanted to display weakness, even as the sensation alternately throbbed and spiked from the source of injury. It'd been an accident, which she was aware of now. Wrong place, wrong time. The fact that he'd seem disappointed or perhaps even guilty had surprised her. But then, she figured, they were a sentient race and intelligent. Simply because war and honour were at the forefront of their culture didn't necessarily mean that it was the only aspect of their personalities. Still with the mask on, she did the only thing she could think of while they waited for a medic to arrive from one of the larger rooms – she butted his arm lightly with the mask.

Scar looked down sharply, wiggling his mandibles out of curiosity before, warily, returning the gesture with his hand to her arm. What had she meant to do by that? He was even more surprised when she repeated it, slightly harder. Then, just as he was about to go one step further, he caught sight of the amusement in her eyes. At least, he hoped it was amusement. He didn't want to exactly add insult to injury. Her gift was something that at least one council member wanted to learn from, and beating her would only slow down that process. 'Strange little soft meat' he mused, watching her frown at her own fingers before the medic finally arrived. It was a female this time, barely a juvenile. Likely she'd been chosen for this reason, as she appeared to be the least intimidating.

"_What happened_?"

"_I accidentally trod on her fingers when I woke up. I need you to repair them_."

She clicked her mandibles irritably, but dared not scold the considerably older male further. She was a subordinate to him, even if grown females were generally the fiercer of the two when it came to courtship. Too young to mate, therefore too young to stand any chance against a clan superior.

"_I will give her an infusion of our blood before setting them. That should allow the muscles and tendons to heal while they are set_."

He nodded gruffly, clicking his upper teeth together as he folded his arms over his chest as the unblooded fussed about the ooman. Technically if you went by marks alone, the pale one outranked the medic. He chattered quietly with amusement to himself, keeping his eyes intently on the pair.

Just as the medic was about to insert the needle, the ooman shot across the room. Well, not quite, but that's how it had appeared to him. She'd reeled away from the syringe, knocked it aside and pretty much barrelled herself between the two Yautja in a bid for freedom. Regardless if her hand hurt like hell and she couldn't use her fingers, she **hated** needles. Scar moved first, shifting himself into her path before gripping hold of her shoulders. Manoeuvring her using her momentum, he flipped her so her back rested against his chest before securing her arms with his – now, at least, the medic would be able to inject the booster without too much trouble. But even with her pretty much helpless, he could feel her squirming away. Eventually she stopped fighting once the syringe had been secured, shaking in his arms from fear, the scent rolling off her in waves, and she allowed her will to succumb to the sedative that'd been hurriedly added to the mixture. Placing her down onto the bay, he scratched at his cheek with his claws as the medic checked the binding was secure before examining her hand.

"_What was that about_?"

"_She must be scared of needles. It is a common ooman fear_."

"_But it's so small_!"

"_Oomans have developed deadly poisons over the years, to use against their own kind. Something as small as a pea can kill a grown male in two days in lingering agony_."

He snorted then in disgust. There was no honour to be had in killing someone that way. Physical fights were how it should be done, so one could be found properly worthy instead of resorting to such low methods. No wonder she'd flinched then, he reasoned.

Just as he started to lose his patience and started to pace the treatment room, the medic trilled and gestured him over. As he was by formality her owner, he'd need to know.

"_Do not let her use it for a week. It was fortunately not her preferred hand_."

"_Left-handed_?"

"_Yes, so she'll be able to help and clean around your quarters."_

"_Hngh, I was hoping she'd be well enough for a testing spar..."_

"_Not unless you want her completely useless."_

He grunted before peering down at her, clacking his mandibles before examining the tattoo on her wrist. He'd seen scars sure enough, and some ornate ones as well, but never tattoos. Nothing other than hard meat blood did enough damage. He traced the ones on her stomach, following the trail of vines with the same amount of fascination evident in his eyes as she'd had for his trophies earlier that day. She wiggled, and then he found himself being blearily blinked at with one eyebrow raised. Scar moved his hand immediately then, refusing to allow her to see his interest.

"_What happened_?"

"_You bolted_."

"_Nngh, I hate needles_."

"_That we figured by now. Can you stand_?"

She took his last question as something close to suggesting she was weak. Frowning slightly to herself, she forced herself upright into a sitting position, ignoring the weak-headed spin, before peering at the bandages. After a pause and a huff of what sounded like irritation, she then lowered her head to the female who'd taken a few paces back. Her eyebrow ridges rose up in surprise at the gesture, but she returned it all the same. Being acknowledged wasn't something that happened very often. She watched as the ooman peered at the mark on her elbow, testing the skin around it before looking up.

"_We injected you with Yautja blood. It will act as a catalyst for your own healing abilities_."

That worked. Scar had heard tales of more violent reactions, but he highly doubted the sincerity of rumours regardless of what they were on. Dealing with the 'what if's just had no part of their lifestyle, and was best left to the Elders and Soothsayers. Shaking his head a little, he then made a gesture for her to follow. The medic made no move or sound to stop him, and she obediently slid off the table, wobbled a little, and then followed his hulking form as he made his way towards the training quarters. She'd watch. He didn't quite trust her in his room, especially given her earlier wide-eyed look to his kills.

Scampering along after him with wide eyes drinking in all of the details around, her fear seemed to have been replaced with a child-like wonder. Call it the secret archaeologist in her squealing over something they'd discovered by accident. As they eventually came to the room, she gulped. It was filled, not quite crowded, with Yautja. Some were blooded, some looked like senior Hunters and others still failed to have the two lines signifying they'd completed the rite of passage. That was what worried her most. Through a series of unpredicted events, she'd became superior to them through killing the Xenomorph despite having only done so to preserve her own life. So it wasn't hard for her to imagine the glares and indignant clicks of some as she kept close to the flank of her protector while trying to maintain her confidant posture.

"_Do not fear them_."

"Easy for you to say."

He spun round then, catching her beneath the jaw with his hand as he tipped her chin up. Several looked on expectantly, chattering amongst themselves with sounds that she didn't need the mask to translate. They quite clearly expected him to cause some damage. She remained standing, forcing her legs not to buckle while her blue eyes remained fixed on his features behind those spectacles. Breath girl, just keep breathing. He doesn't want to harm you because you saved his life; this is just a show so he doesn't look weak in front of his peers. He heard her heartbeat increase all the same, flexing his mandibles as he managed to maintain a frown. Then, without a word, he backhanded her. But at the same time as his hand caused her head to whip round from the force of it, what felt like a needle of psychic pain jammed him right between the eyes. He gave a screech of surprise at first, then quickly caught a hold of himself and managed to force his vocal cords to turn it into a sound of anger. So that's what the Elder had meant by mind-speak; the ability to defend herself from others using the mind. No wonder they wanted to see the extent of her abilities. Snarling low in his throat as a cover for the headache starting to build, he manoeuvred her to sit on a cold wooden bench with two other ooman slaves whose owners were also in the sparring area before joining the crowd.

She resisted the urge to lash out, balling her hands into fists at her side as she felt the blow sting. She knew full well what she'd done in turn, and silently thanked whatever deity his kind believed in that he hadn't made it publically known. Glaring at the young man beside her as he offered a look of concern, she sat smouldering in her foul mood and patiently began to await the end of this match.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Your aseigan has quite the temper on her_."

"_I've noticed that by now, surprisingly_."

The growl he got in response made him mentally bite his tongue, clicking his mandibles together irritably. He'd tolerated her attitude easily enough in private, but having to play the controlling master in public and then knowing he'd have to go back wasn't something he was considering lightly. Hell hath no fury like a woman pissed off, regardless of species. His eyes returned to the spar occurring in the ring, dancing along with the movements of the two Unblooded males venting off a little energy. After a pause, he then looked over his shoulder.

She found the human company welcome, but irritating at the same time. They had a whole new social structure from having to co-exist with these creatures; submissive, obedient and never speaking out unless spoken to. Already she'd had to carefully reword things to make it seem like her marker wasn't too lenient. Jealousy was the last emotion she wanted amongst her own kind. As the male noticed her injury, he made to take it – a comforting gesture to some. But instantly she hissed at him, raising a hand as though to swat him. If he was used to being around beasts, acting accordingly might just get him to listen.

"Back off!"

Scar chuckled quietly at her response to the attempt at sympathy, silently reminding himself that he'd indeed chosen a suitable ooman to mark. But he gave a growl regardless, in a hope to try and force that almost bristling posture of hers to relax a little. She remained tensed for a moment more, her eyes turning from offender to Yautja in a few quick flicks before finally focussing once more on the arena. He could hear her breathing settle, her heart slowing to a steadier beat as her eyes began to dance just like his had done a moment before. Maybe a Chiva would be in order at some point.

He paced over, lowering himself to the bench lining one of the walls before giving a low churr out of his throat as he gestured to her hand. He restrained a smile as she played along, lowering her head and holding out her bound and injured hand even while fighting off a broad grin – clearly an appreciator of the display the two younger males were putting on. He examined the bandages before sharply looking up as he felt a shadow fall across him. An unblooded male stood before him, one of those from the fight he'd been watching a moment ago, distinguishable by the long gash going completely through his useless left eye. Without acknowledging her, he cocked his head at the ooman beside him as his sunken eyes narrowed.

"_She shows m'di h'dlak_," were his words, filled with contempt as his mandibles clacked together.

"_That is something I hold in good regard. A cowering aseigan is not worthy_."

Her head turned between the two of them, understanding the majority of it but not some of the words. Presumably they were used like nouns, and therefore differed from their normal patterns of speech. But at the arrogant expression on his features, if you could call it that, just rubbed her mood entirely the wrong way; as if being backhanded by a creature you thought you could relate to on some level wasn't bad enough, right? She didn't back down as the Unblooded, who she silently named Gash, leant down and roared right into her face. Phew, bad breath. At least Scar kept his mandibles clean and, judging by smell, kept himself reasonably well groomed. Without thinking, she squared her shoulders back and attempted to match him. She was Scar's, not his. While she refused to ever accept the term slave, she'd use it to her advantage was necessary. Gash bristled, drawing himself up sharply before snorting and jabbing an arm to the now empty ring, a sneer seemingly apparent.

"I propose a jehdin jehdin, to first blood."

Several surrounding the ring instantly began trilling and chattering at this challenge. Captured oomans being beaten was one thing, but to challenge one like an equal was unheard of. Then again, she bore the mark of a Blooded one. Scar, reluctantly, had no choice but to allow her to make this decision on her own. She paused, looking directly at him for a moment before turning her attention to the confidant challenger almost swaggering before her, and nodding once.

"Very well, I accept."

Gash made a mock bow, chattering his mandibles together before striding to the opposite end in order to enter from his side. Built like a wrestling ring without the ropes, the sunken ring and surrounding seats gave it the feel of an amphitheatre. Peering at her own attire for a moment, her eyes narrowed at the metal across his shoulders and hips. That was even more unfair, as if the considerably height and muscular difference wasn't bad enough. Sighing quietly to herself, she then sank into a partial crouch dragged out from her memories of karate training. He did the same, although it didn't take much growled encouragement from his peers before he lurched into a charge. She sidestepped it, intentionally throwing up as much of the gritty flooring as possible while leaning back to avoid the elbow throw out as she dodged. Her only chance to remain intact was to keep just out of reach, and hopefully tire him, although with her hand starting to throb, even that game plan was starting to get less and less likely to occur. Still, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of going down easily.

He made a swipe for her as she darted out of his way, snarling under his breath, before turning as sharply as he could to try and get her back into his field of vision again. Like a mongoose with a snake, Scar watched with approval as she danced out of his range. She was _setg '-in_; quick and dangerous. Or at least, she would be if the combat wasn't specifically an unarmed one. Gash chattered in frustration, ignoring now the encouragements of his peers as he began to focus solely on punishing the ooman. She should be on the floor by now, begging for mercy! Yet still, she kept herself just out of reach, darting it to land single blows before scampering away again like an opportunistic scavenger. He finally landed a blow though, a forearm swiping across her midriff, and let out a triumphant trill as she landed heavily on her back with a winded grunt. Just as he was about to grab her by the throat, up came her foot right into his crotch. Metal armour might be covering his shoulders and thighs, but only dull leather kept his modesty.

The wince that went around the ring was one of sympathy and then, shortly after, teasing. Even Scar trilled to himself in amusement, wordlessly applauding her with the noise. It might have been a blow below the belt, but it was a fair one to take given how poorly-matched the fight already was. As Gash instinctively hunched over to protect the pride of his family lineage, her knee came up sharply into his lungs while her elbow was driven into the back of his head. A typical move, but she'd completed it well and swiftly enough after her initial attack for it to have the desired effect. He turned his attention to the ooman slaves then and was silently surprised to see the two looking on with a mixture of awe and disgust. Was it shameful to want to prove oneself? He'd never know. Shaking his head while looking on, Scar kept his attention on the quarrel. Gash rose then, hissing angrily before making a full-frontal charge. She made to dodge, but overstepped. Her ankle turned and she crumpled on the spot as he collided with her; seven foot of muscle soon pinned her to the floor of the arena, blocking her escape with two forearms laid flat on the floor as the rest of his body pinned her own regardless of how much she squirmed. Just as he began leaning in with his pointed mandibles directed towards her face, a nearly white hand found a handful of dreadlocks and heaved him off with a snarl.

"_This is over. Can you not see she is injured? For shame_, _to fight an aseigan at their weakest. No honour in it at all_." It was the albino, scowling down at the unblooded male as he picked himself up off the floor. Several of the spectators looked amongst themselves as though sharing this opinion; some felt guilt at having encouraged the fight with no honour, and some felt shame that it had not been allowed to be concluded. Scar stepped in then, offering her a hand to help her rise. She took it, wincing as she did so before letting go. Her fingers had become inflamed slightly from her rapid movements of before and the motions she'd been doing, and her skin appeared reddened and dented where parts of Gash's armour had dug in when paired with his weight.

"It's over?"

"_Yes. He was a pauk-de for fighting you_."

"Is there somewhere I can rest? My head's spinning."

"I have a meeting with one of the Elder's shortly. You shall rest in my quarters until I return, and you may sleep on my bed while I am absent."

x.x.x.x.x.x

When he returned from the meeting, he found her exactly where he'd suggested she be. Tucked up in his bed, almost double the human king-size, with fur pelts and sheets piled around her like a cocoon, he couldn't help but notice how fragile she appeared compared to her defiant self of before. Her skin was unnaturally pale, and she seemed diminutive when he looked at her in comparison to the furniture she slumbered on. He settled carefully beside her, placing the platter of food and drink on the table-like niche of the wall nearby before laying down. He pulled another cover over from the floor and, after removing all but his normal informal clothing, allowed his eyes to close as he purred quietly. He had no reason to fear the ooman. She was Blooded and injured.

"Goodnight."

He clacked a mandible at the murmured comment from her pile of furs, before remembering what the definition was. Allowing his eyes to close again, he huffed softly out of his slitted nostrils.

"_Goodnight, Yeyinde_."

Translations:

Aseigan: servant

Chiva: test, trial

M-di H'dlak: no fear

Jehdin Jehdin: one-on-one, hand-hand combat

Pauk-de: fucker

Yeyinde: "brave one"


End file.
